


God Does Not Play Dice With The Universe

by Ka5hew



Series: Just The Two Of Us Against The Rest Of The World [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ka5hew/pseuds/Ka5hew
Summary: It started with a rumour, as most things do. The rumour was that Nelson and Murdock’s had recently helped a certain masked vigilante who roamed the rooves of Hell’s KitchenAka Frank helps and injured Matt and then some other stuff
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Series: Just The Two Of Us Against The Rest Of The World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694863
Comments: 14
Kudos: 163





	1. Poker in a Pitch-Dark Room

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t really know where I’m going with this, so far it’s just a mix of random ideas. Hope u enjoy it!

It started with a rumour, as most things do. The rumour was that Nelson and Murdock’s had recently helped a certain masked vigilante who roamed the rooves of Hell’s Kitchen.

This was a lie.

Nelson and Murdock’s had never “helped” Daredevil, mainly because one of them was Daredevil, so there was no need. However, this did not stop the nightlife of Hell’s Kitchen spreading the rumour like wildfire, and eventually, they all came to know that Nelson and Murdock knew who was under the mask.

Matt didn’t even hear about the rumours until one evening in the office. Foggy had left early to go on a dinner with Marci, so it was just him there when the radio grabbed his attention as it went on to explain how his firm apparently knew the identity of Daredevil.

Then came the reporters, banging on the doors and windows, relentlessly shouting questions from outside.  
So, deciding that it was sensible to wait out the crowd, Matt stayed in his office and worked late into the night. The reporters did eventually leave, although it was a lot later than Matt had anticipated. Stepping outside, the night air was brisk and there was a slight fog settling over the streets. The moon clouded up as Matt made his way home, cane swishing back and forth, and his footsteps echoing in the empty streets. He was five minutes away from his flat when he heard the muffled cry coming from the alleyway.

He wasn’t really in a position to change his clothes at the time, so instead Matt went for the “I’m blind” approach.   
(In hindsight, he really should have fully analysed the situation before jumping in, but then again, he never was one for tactics.)

“Hello? Anyone here?” he asked, trying to sound as lost as possible, whilst actually counting the number of heartbeats: three. All men. All armed.

“Ah! Mr Murdock! Just the man we were looking for!” and then they were upon him.

Usually, this would be the part where Matt beats up the bad guys and saves the victim. Except there was no victim. He was the victim. And he couldn’t start fighting like a ninja; these people knew him, knew his name. Even if he managed to get them to the police, one word from them could expose him.  
These were all thoughts that came to him afterward, to reassure himself that this was all part of his plan, and he didn’t have another choice, when in fact, the second the three men were upon him, he had been knocked out cold. 

……………

Frank was having a fairly normal week. Normal by his standards at least.  
He had a (part time) job, his friends (mainly just Curtis and David), a place to stay, and he still went out at night to do vigilante business. So really, everything was perfect.

Until Matt had to go and screw up.

He saw it on the news that evening and could already hear Matt ranting about it, which brought a smile to his face. Hopefully Karen would be writing the article on it, for his sake.  
He and Matt had been working together for some time now. At first, it pissed him off. Red would never shut up about doing things “his way”, and how Frank needed to “give people second chances”. They fought. A lot. Both verbally and physically. Frank was sure he had gotten more bruises from Red back then than from any criminals on the streets.  
Eventually, they found a common ground, and the arguments occurred less and less.  
Now, Frank wasn’t really sure where he stood with the guy; he wasn’t an ally, but he wouldn’t exactly call him a friend either. Whatever they were, Frank was happy.

Until, as mentioned before, Matt had to go and screw up.

The news of the rumours was what pushed Frank to seek him out that night, scanning the rooftops, alleyways and dumpsters for that idiotic red suit.  
An hour or two later, Frank had just about given up, assuming that Matt had done the clever thing for once and decided to rest. 

He was, unsurprisingly, wrong, and only realised when he saw three men dragging a familiar looking lawyer, hanging lifelessly in their grips, into an old office building. 

Sh*t.

That was Red.

Dread filled him slowly and he felt as though someone had dunked an ice-cold bucket of water on him.

That was Red.

………………..  
  
Matt never really regretted becoming the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. He regretted the pain he had caused Karen and Foggy, and he regretted the lives he was unable to save, but he had never regretted the initial decision to take up the name of Daredevil. Even now - tied to a chair in a soundproof room - he didn’t regret it. He did, however, regret his stupid decision to go into that alleyway. 

The room was small, and was either an attic or a basement, but Matt was finding it hard to distinguish which it was due to the immense lack of sound, which created a void of nothingness, frustrating his senses. (It was similar to the experience of looking around in a pitch black room, unable to tell if your eyes are actually open.) 

He strained his ears, but was only greeted with silence. 

After what he assumed was an hour (but could have easily been three), Matt started to hear noises: buzzing, scraping, tapping. They tugged at his senses, taunting them and soon Matt came to question if they were even real.  
The room itself was torture, despite what came next. 

When the door swung open (there had been a door?) light and noise flooded in, attacking Matt’s senses and drowning him. It was all so sudden that the overstimulation sent Matt into shock, rendering him unaware as a man waked in to stand in front of him.  
He spoke, and Matt’s ears felt like bursting. Whatever meaning the words had was lost in the vast ocean of sounds.

The only thing that stoped his panicked frenzy was the feel of a hot liquid trailing done his chest, and the delayed pain that slowly spread across his torso.

“I ask you again, who is under the mask? Who is Daredevil?” 

So that’s what this was all about. He should have realised sooner but he had been a little preoccupied with all the being knocked unconscious and captured. 

He had obviously taken too long to respond as he felt another sharp burst of pain sprout from his arm, and the swish of a knife. Matt wasn’t a stranger to physical torture, which is why he barley winced as the man sliced through his skin, hoping to break his silence. Nevertheless, he was panting by the time it was over; bruises and cuts littered his body. But Matt hadn’t been just sat there taking punches and threats, he had been working. More specifically, he had been working away at the chains tying him uncomfortably to the chair. 

Originally, it was Frank’s idea. He used to keep a small piece of a knife, just the tip, hidden on him, under bandages, in his boots, and once (disgustingly) inside an old wound. 

Soon, Matt started doing it too, keeping the edge of a blade hidden in his coat sleeves or shoes. He would never, as Frank might, use it to kill someone in a fight, but it certainly came in handy in situations like this. Not that he would ever admit that to Frank, the asshole wouldn’t stop rubbing it in his face if he did. 

So, as the man punched and stabbed and sliced and kicked, Matt filed away at the metal chain until he could just about break it with his hands.  
That was, of course, when his luck turned sour. Just as he was about to break free, the man turned and left (most likely to get a gun to blow open Matt’s head with) and he shut the door behind him. 

Matt was once again plunged into nothingness with only his own screams and the phantom sounds to accompany him. 

.........................  
  
It didn’t take Frank long to get inside. He was swift and didn’t hesitate when pulling the trigger time and time again to get down to the basement level. Once he was there (and everyone else was either dead or unconscious) he came across the soundproof room.  
It was incredible secure with some fancy keypad, so Frank just shot it and hoped for the best. Luckily for him, it worked and the door softly clicked open.  
Immediately, they were upon him, fists attacking his ribs, legs, face, everything. At first, instinct kicked in and he fought back, until he saw who he was fighting.

It was, surprisingly, Matt, and not some criminal, like he had assumed. 

As soon as he realised what was going on, Frank stopped retaliating and instead dodged the attacks. 

“Red! Hey, stop! It’s me, Frank” he growled, dodging another punch and grabbing Matt by his shoulders. But Matt was a good fighter, even when he was delusional. He thrust his head forward, slamming into Frank’s nose, making a deafening crack as it started to bleed. 

“Little sh*t - I’m tryna’ help,” but Matt clearly wasn’t hearing any of it as he charged once again towards him, except this time, Frank was prepared.  
As soon as Matt’s fist came flying at him again, he dodged to the left, got behind Matt, and grabbed onto him, then used his weight to bring them both to the ground and keep them there. 

Matt still struggled against Frank’s weight on top of him, but after a few seconds, he stopped squirming and suddenly looked a lot more present and aware. 

“Frank?” He asked, and his quiet, sore voice reminded Frank that he was probably injured. Getting of off him, he helped him up, only to have Matt instantly fall back into his arms. Noticing all the injuries the other man sustained, it wasn’t surprising that he could barely walk. So, Frank lifted the now-unconscious Matt over his shoulders, grabbed his guns, and left. 

.....................

It’s true that people are never grateful for what they have until they’ve lost it, which is why when Matt woke up to sounds and smells, he had never been so relieved. Before, he had been shrouded with darkness, but now, his senses helped pain him a picture of his surroundings. He was in some sort of apartment - not his own. It was smaller and cluttered, and smelt oddly familiar. Then, he heard the heartbeat, and the memories rushed back to him: the sound proof bunker, the fighting, and Frank Castle. 

He hadn’t realised it was Frank he was fighting until the man’s scent was shoved in his face. The familiarity of it must have brought him back to his senses. It wasn’t because he had come to associate Frank with security or safety, and it definitely wasn’t because made him feel relaxed, or at home. Definitely not that.

It was that same scent (gunpowder, coffee, blood, sweat and dog hairs) that snapped him out of his thoughts as the other vigilante approached him. 

“Mornin’ sunshine, you want any breakfast?” 

Matt was about to reply when, as he tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness overtook him, and all sounds merged into a night pitched ringing that just kept getting louder. It was the rough calloused hand placed on his shoulder that vanquished the spell of nausea and brought him back. 

“Frank?”

“Yeah it’s me,”

“Where am I?” He asked, his tough heavy and his mouth parched. As if Frank had read his mind, he was handed a glass of water. 

“My place,” he reasoned casually. Finishing off his water, Matt ran his hands carefully over his chest, feeling how his bare skin was decorated with plasters and stitches.  
“Thanks for the stitches” he said, as Frank helped him sit in a more comfortable position before placing a tray in front of him, the smells coming off of the tray were amazing ( though it may have just seemed that way to Matt, who was starving).  
Matt dug into the food with fervour and it was finished only a few minutes later. 

Some time during that, Frank had sat down on a chair next to the bed and was munching on some breakfast bar. 

“So, you gonna tell me why some lowlifes were beating the sh*t out of you, or, more specifically, why they were beating the sh*t out of Matt Murdock?”  
It felt weird to hear Frank say his name; he had never used it before. He’d always refer to him as “Red” or “altar boy” or “pain in my ass”. 

“Apparently Nelson and Murdock’s know the identity of Daredevil” he replied, trying to keep the same casual tone as Frank, although he could hear a little frustration in Frank’s tone as he spoke again.

“Yeah, I heard about that. I told you that red suit of yours attracts too much attention.” 

“At least it’s not yellow.”

“What?”

“Nothing” 

Frank just got up (rolling his eyes - though Matt wouldn’t know that) and took the tray, leaving Matt alone in the bedroom.


	2. Blank Cards and Infinite Stakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Frank have to make a quick escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just incase there’s any confusion: this is supposed to be set after season 1 of the punisher and before the defenders takes place.

Matt was grateful for the thin walls of Frank’s apartment. They allowed him to be constantly aware of everything. (Unlike that horrid soundless oblivion of that basement). As well as that, it allowed Matt a nice insight to Frank’s life.   
The two vigilantes did work together a lot more lately, but staying at The Punishers apartment showed him a different side to Frank that Matt never expected. 

Every morning, Matt would wake up to the smell of eggs, or pancakes. It was nice to have a proper breakfast every day, rather than just a bitter coffee, or no breakfast at all. Sometimes, the radio would be playing. Matt never expected Frank to be the type who listens to the radio, but apparently he was wrong. 

On some days, Frank would disappear for hours, and would come back smelling strongly of dog. When Matt questioned him about it, he told him that he had been volunteering at an animal shelter. This was one of the less surprising things; he always knew Frank had a soft spot for animals. 

Matt didn’t intend to stay at Frank’s for long. He stayed partially because Frank refused to let him leave until he was fully healed, and partially because he liked Frank’s place: it was less empty, it had nice food, and it had nice company. So he didn’t argue, and when the end of the week came and Matt was all healed, Frank casually suggested that Matt should stay longer. 

People were after him; it made sense to net be alone. And maybe Matt didn’t like being alone. Maybe, Matt liked Frank’s company. Maybe, Matt liked Frank. 

.....................

Having Matt stay over at his place was both a blessing and a curse. 

He was great the first few days: staying in bed, healing up, having nice conversations with Frank. Frank wasn’t going to make Matt leave, or throw him out, in fact, he preferred the opposite. He liked being around Matt, and part of him thought that maybe Matt liked being around him too. 

They had both come to a mutual understanding, which is why neither of them brought up the fact that Matt had been staying over at Frank’s for weeks now, and had practically made it his new home. 

The rumours should have definitely died down by now, but it was better to be safe than sorry - at least, that’s what Frank told himself. 

Matt had started going back to work a few days ago, after Frank deemed him “fully recovered”. He still went out as the devil at night, except now it was never without Frank. 

They didn’t talk about this arrangement, it just sort of happened. 

This was the blessing. 

The curse came not too long after.

It was a Saturday evening and the two of them were, for once, spending their Saturday evening like normal people do. No vigilante justice, just eating dinner with the radio on. (Frank would never admit it but he kept the radio on for Matt. He had seen that sound proof basement those bastards had locked him in, and couldn’t bare to think what it must have been like for Matt). 

They had eaten lasagne for dinner ( it had been Frank’s turn to cook), and now they were sat in the sofa, beers in hand, side by side. When had they become so comfortable around each other?

Matt had even taken his glasses off. Frank loved it when he could see Matt’s eyes. They were a unique shade of brown that glowed golden in the sunlight and tinted blue under the stars. He didn’t know when, but at some point, Frank had fallen in love with those eyes, and couldn’t help but stare at them every chance he got. 

It was those very eyes that were captivating him that evening.

All of it was captivating; the smell of the leftovers, Matt’s warm thigh pressed next to his, the domestic silence. 

And then it all crumbled. turned to dust. Lost in an instant. 

Matt was the first to notice. His entire body stiffened and he abruptly stood up, alert, grabbing Frank by the arm and dragging him into the bedroom. 

“Red, what the hell-“ but Matt slapped a hand over his mouth before he could question further. 

“Shh - someone’s coming,” 

And then Frank hear it too: footsteps thundering up the stairs, almost certainly belonging to people coming after them. Coming after Matt. 

“How many?” He whispered once Matt had removed the hand from his face. 

“I count ten. All armed. They’ll be up here any second, so we need to get out of here.” The words rushed out of Matt and Frank could see how worried he was. If he was right in assuming that these people worked for those who had captured Matt those few weeks ago, then he could understand perfectly why Matt was so worried. But that didn’t mean that it wasn’t unusual to see the man who was calm, even with a gun pointed to his head, look so scared. He was supposed to be the man without fear. He was supposed to be DareDevil. But, Frank supposed, even the devil could be scared. 

The bang of the door immediately threw Frank into action. 

He grabbed Matt by the arm and ran headlong at the bedroom window. Matt caught on only a second later, as Frank crashed through the window, hand still firmly grasping Matt’s. 

..........................

Paying extra for the rooftop entrance in his apartment had never felt like a burden to Matt. It was more convenient to be able to enter and leave with the luxury and privacy of the roof, especially considering how much time he spent up there. 

He was slightly disappointed that Frank didn’t do the same for his apartment, but he lived on the lower floors, and it would be unreasonable to expect him to bother paying extra for a higher floor and a roof. 

Now, Matt wasn’t disappointed at all, he was grateful - grateful that Frank lived on the lower floors, because any higher and their jump could have lead to some serious damage. 

The split second action Frank had take was far too risky, yet it had worked. 

The two of them landed on the hard concrete, glass shards piercing their skin. Frank, who recovered a lot quicker than Matt, got up as swift as possible and immediately went over to help Matt. 

“C’mon, they’ll be here any second” he muttered, pulling Matt’s arm over his shoulder as he carried some of his weight. Matt’s sides were aching from the impact and he was still in a bit of shock from Frank’s impulse decision, but he managed to get a hold of his surrounding and stand by himself. 

“Quick, get in” Frank said, opening the door to his van. 

Matt could hear the tunes being loaded and aimed their way as he scrambled inside the same time as Frank. Not a second after he closed the door, Frank slammed the accelerator as the van roared to life, surging forwards down the street. 

Matt had never really liked cars, mainly because they moved way to fast for him to be able to determine anything going on outside. Frank’s driving, however, took it to a whole new level. 

He was reckless, to put it simply. 

He drove at an intense speed and didn’t stop once. Luckily the roads were fairly empty due to the late hour, but only a second later bullets started flying through the windows of the van. 

“Get in the back” Frank said to him commandingly. 

“What?” 

“Get in the back!” Matt did as he said. 

“Now what?” 

“Take this and shoot,” Frank handed him a gun. Matt froze. Was he serious?

“Seriously? Frank, I’m not going to kill anyone!” 

“Fro f*cks sake Red, take the gun and shoot!” He shouted, shoving the gun into Matt’s hands and returning to the wheel. 

“I’m not gonna do it Frank!”

“My God, Red, just shoot!” A beat. Then, “fine! Shoot their tires!” 

Satisfied, Matt aimed the gun through the van’s back wall, not bothering to open the door, and focused his senses. It was incredibly difficult with all the input constantly rushing past him, but he focused anyways, and sure enough, when he pulled the trigger, he hear it hit the air out of one of the tires of the car behind them. 

Gaining some confidence, Matt shot again, and again, and again. Slowly, the gunshots died out, and so did the sirens, until the only sounds left were them in the van, alone on the road. 

.........................

By the time they had gotten away from it all, Matt had fallen a sleep. Frank stopped at a service station late in the night (it was it just early in the morning?) and went to check on Matt, who was in the back of the van, before going in. He was asleep, with the gun disposed at the side. 

Taking in the sight for a moment, Frank realised how vulnerable Matt looked, asleep, defenceless. It made him realise that this man trusted him enough to fall asleep in the back of his van, which brought up even more thoughts and feelings he’d rather not dwell on. 

It also made him realise how tired Matt must have been, and how tired he, himself, was. Quietly as possible, he closed the van’s door and headed into the service station. 

It was basically empty, only him and some young kid running the till. He picked up some snacks and drinks, and went to pay for them. It was whilst the cashier was scanning his items that his attention was drawn to the TV in front of him which displayed, bright and clear, the chaotic car chase they’d had only a few hours prior. 

As the news went on, it boldly displayed his face on the screen. 

F*ck. 

They knew he was alive. More importantly, they were all after him; police, FBI, CIA. Probably even homeland security (thought maybe Madani would handle that). 

As soon as the food was scanned, Frank threw the loose notes at the boy, not bothering to wait for change, grabbed the food, and left. 

Outside, the first thing he did was pull out his phone and drop in on the floor, crushing it with one swift stomp. 

He couldn’t risk this, especially since Matt was with him. 

Getting back into the van, he was surprised to find Matt awake, and in the sweet next to him. 

“So, I just got a phone call from Foggy, and apparently, you’re wanted, on the run, and have taken me hostage.” 

Ok, so that was new. Taken Matt hostage? Frank almost laughed at the idea. 

“Yeah, I just saw that on the news, what d’you tell Nelson?” 

“The truth, and not to tell the police anything.”

“You still got your phone on you?” 

“No, I destroyed it after the call,” 

“Good.” Frank put his hand on the wheel and started up the engine again, only to stop as he felt a warm hand on his arm. 

“Frank, I’m sorry that I got you into this mess again, you can leave me here, get away. I’ll call a taxi, get back, sort everything out,” 

Frank turned to face Matt and just stopped. The pale light of the moon and the full orange of the street lights flooded across Matt’s face, highlighting his jawline and dancing off his glasses. 

It was breathtaking.

All at once, the words hit him as he took them in properly. 

Leave? 

“Like hell I’m leaving you Red, you know how many people out there are still after you? Cut the crap. I’m not leaving, and you’re not going back either.”

For a second, Frank thought he saw a smile on Matt’s lips, just a slight one, but it was gone as quick as it came. 

“What do you suggest we do then, Frank?” 

It was a good question. 

“We run. Hide. Whatever. Then we track down these assholes and-“

“Kill them?” Matt finished for him, and Frank could sense where he was going. 

“These people aren’t gonna stop coming after you Red,” 

“And I’m not going to kill them for it - and I’m not gonna let you do it either. How about we track them down, and then call the police? It’ll keep them locked away and It’ll give me time to sort out this mess.” Matt urged. 

“Fine. But any of them try anything funny, I’m killing them.” He said with finality. Then, he turned the engine on once again and they drive back onto the dark, empty road. 

“Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ur all enjoying this. I have so many ideas for this fic that I’ve decided to make it part of a series, so don’t worry there is more to come!


End file.
